


A golden opportunity

by Stressed



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Library, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Requited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 05:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5484491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stressed/pseuds/Stressed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is spending Christmas in the library. As it happens, so is John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A golden opportunity

In the days leading up to Christmas, the crowd in the library dwindles. First to go  are the people who come for a few hours before catching the last train home for the holidays, then those desperate to print one last thing before they go, and then even the international students begin to take their leave to enjoy the festivities. The place itself wasn’t even supposed to be open on Christmas Day- an email went round last week that proclaims it will only have two members of staff and one of those will, as ever, be Marcus the grouchy security guard.

Sherlock is thrilled. Not only does he now have free reign to stalk among the shelves, that remaining staff member is the only one that has never bothered him for doing so. John. Short, well built and blond, the captain of the rugby team is much more likely to just give him a tired smile than a reprimand. He never comes over to bother him, preferring to stay hidden behind his desk scratching away at some sort of notes. Sherlock knows he’s a medic, probably third or fourth year to Sherlock’s second, but that’s it. He’s by no means a fresh subject, but he is absolutely impossible to read- it’s delightful.

None of this explains how Sherlock comes to be kissing said librarian, or rather, being kissed by John. Very, very softly, very tenderly, by the Christmas tree in the library foyer. On Christmas Day. If his brain were engaged he’d be scoffing at how saccharine, how horrifically romantic it all is, but right now all he can concentrate on is the feeling of John’s lips on his, John’s breath on his face, his hand curled lightly around his bicep. He can feel a warm heat pooling in his abdomen- joy perhaps, or just sheer attraction to this man in front of him.

It starts with a smile, the same worn smile that John gives him every day when he spots Sherlock in his favoured space, facing the desk but with his back to the wall. It had taken him a while to work out that it was the best place to work- no opportunity for people to sneak up behind him, a perfect view of a gorgeous man and right next to the shelves he needs most often. That it happens to be the only desk John has to pass to get to any of the bookcases, well, that’s a happy accident, isn’t it?

Sherlock assumes Christmas Day will be like any other day in the library. He’ll sit and work on his latest monograph, John will sit there with his textbook, the two of them will work in silence until it is time to go home. That smile is just the first step towards a day of normalcy- but then it’s interrupted by John sliding out from behind his desk and placing a cup of coffee on Sherlock’s table, an even warmer smile directed at him now. The silence is maintained but the coffee comes with a note.

‘Figured you’d be here. Black, two sugars, no milk, right?  -J (the librarian)’

The only downside to this desk is that John can instantly see the furious blush working its way up Sherlock’s face, burning the tips of his ears. He offers John a small nod and a smile and then directs his head back towards his work.

How does he know what Sherlock’s coffee order is? Surely he just guessed, brought two of his own order and decided it would be weird to sit with two coffees so he gave one to Sherlock? And what about thinking he’d be here? An obvious deduction given he’s barely left in months, but does that mean John’s noticed him? Noticed him, noticed him, or just realised the same man sits in the same seat every day? It’s infuriating. John is perfect, what is he doing winding Sherlock up? What is the very, very fit, very handsome, passably clever captain doing leaving him coffees? And notes? It is a prank? Mind, John did stop his teammates from taking the piss out of him a year ago but surely he doesn’t remember that? Sherlock does, but Sherlock remembers everything, especially how gorgeous John had looked jogging over and barking at his friends.

He dares to look up at him again, only to find that John is watching him work.

‘You’re doing chemistry, aren’t you? Mike Stamford was in your lectures when he was intercalating?’

Ah, Sherlock had forgotten that. John’s voice isn’t deep but it’s the slightest bit raspy, comforting in its kind tone. He's heard it snap into commanding on the rugby pitch (no matter what Irene says he was there for a case and seeing John's muddy calves had nothing to do with it), and he's heard his polite, librarian voice, but he's never heard this one-quiet, gentle.

‘Yes. Chemistry. You’re a medic, third, probably fourth year if you’re friends with Stamford, working over Christmas so what, poor? No, lonely, you don’t have family to go to. No wait, you do, you just don’t want to see them- sibling then, no parents. Would be parents except you obviously miss them, wearing a jumper knitted by your mother else you would have gotten rid of it by now. Captain of the rugby team but that’s obvious, everyone who’s ever been in this library has seen you in your kit at some point or another. You bought me coffee because what, you feel sorry for me?’

It comes out before Sherlock can stop it, devastating in its entirety. Why doesn’t he ever learn, why can’t he keep it to himself, he’s never wanted to watch John’s face twist into the sneer everyone graces him with after being at the end of one of his deductions.  He knew he should have gone home to mummy; at least offending family members wouldn't have cost him the one bright spark that is endless days in the library studying for a degree he doesn’t want.

‘Brilliant. Just brilliant,’ John utters, and Sherlock is stunned.

‘That’s not what people normally say,’ his reply is quick, automatic, even if his brain is still stumbling over the fact that John Watson of all people, is smiling at him, thinks him brilliant.

‘What do they normally say?’

‘Piss off.’ This is it. This is the moment John will realise he’s not supposed to be engaging the freak in conversation, that Sherlock will ruin his reputation. Shockingly, the moment never comes. John is still grinning at him, little huffs of air coming out as if he’s what, laughing? Laughing at him? _Laughing with him?_

Sherlock’s answering smile is blinding, a quirk of his mouth and eyes suddenly alive, looking at a man who is becoming even more wonderful.

‘So that’s why the team hated you. You must have picked up, what, Ellison cheating on his girlfriend with Rush’s girl? And you told him, didn’t you, straight to his face. Extraordinary Sherlock Holmes, riling up two members of the rugby team and then not running away.’ John states, that fond smile crinkling the corners of his eyes that makes Sherlock want to grab him and never let anyone else share him.

‘Ellison wasn’t cheating with Rush’s girl, Ellison was cheating with Rush. Easy really, the way they never ever touched on the field, always trained far away from each other, only ever seen together when they had the buffer of their girlfriends around. That, and the lovebite on Rush’s neck from a set of teeth too wide to be from a girl…’ Sherlock looks up again, worried he’s overdone it this time, but John just moves closer, swinging his legs into the chair opposite Sherlock and pushing his book closed.

John moves with an easy grace Sherlock wishes he could emulate. That day he'd confronted Ellison, John had come running over and pushed both of the boys off of him and it'd had been gorgeous- John's muscles rippling in the sunlight, a comfortable display of alpha dominance that Sherlock had had to admit later had made his knees go the slightest bit weak.

‘Tell me more. Why did you think I bought you a coffee out of pity? Surely someone who deduces as well as you can work out I’ve just bought a very cute boy a coffee because I like him?’ whispers John with a cocky grin.

‘You wouldn’t have known I’d be here to give it to me,’ Sherlock spars back, tentatively pushing it a bit more now that John hasn’t stormed out after hearing about both himself and his team.

‘You’re always here.’

‘It’s Christmas.’ Sherlock snaps, rapid fire. Their conversation is getting louder now they're no longer pretending there is anyone else around. 

‘Even more reason for you to be here, you hate spending time with other people.’ John is just as quick.

‘You’re straight.’

‘I’m bisexual and that’s not the point. Sherlock Holmes, why on earth would I pity you?’ John answered.

‘If you don’t pity me, alone at Christmas in the library, why else would you bring me coffee to my exact order?’ Sherlock’s tone is deferential, almost wistful. It is too painful to hope for anything other than pity from John.

‘Perhaps you ought to listen more, Holmes, instead of trying to work me out from my mum’s jumper.  I’ve already said you’re brilliant, maybe I want to get to know you,’ John states.

They end up chatting for eight hours. Sherlock learns that John is working in the library because the alternative is the café where his ex-girlfriend works, that he’s actually a fourth year medic so he and John will graduate at the same time, that John wanted to join the army but a rugby injury means he’ll never make it past basic training, despite being incredibly fit already.

He marvels over the fact that whilst John’s eyes have always appeared brown from afar, up close they are a deep, stormy blue.

Sherlock tells John about his insufferable brother, his website, his plans to become a consulting detective. He’s never felt this comfortable with anyone, let alone someone with the popularity and social standing as John and he starts to let more and more slip. Out comes working with Lestrade, and he’s mentioned having dead body parts in his fridge multiple times before he realises John hasn’t reacted to it even once.

Eventually it comes time for the library to close and Sherlock knows. He’s the only one here, John had a long and boring shift- and that’s it. He really did bring two coffees for himself to get through hours on his own and he only gave one to Sherlock as a conversation starter so he wouldn’t have to just stare at his textbook. It is, after all that, still pity.

‘Come on then genius. Where are you off to next? I got the keys from Marcus so I could keep this section open a while longer and we could talk, but I think someone will notice if I don’t lock up at some point!’ John is still smiling.

‘Fancy getting takeaway? There’s an Indian place still open down the street, we could go back to mine to eat? Or we could eat in, if you wanted? Or maybe there’s a Sainsbury’s open, I could grab us some dinner? I don’t know, maybe you have places to be,’ John trails off, looking more and more nervous as Sherlock fails to say anything.

‘I mean, if you want to go then that’s fine, I’ve probably talked your ear off and –‘

‘Please!’ What is it with him and blurting things out today? First he deduces John, then he deduces his teammates, and now he’s suddenly going for dinner with the man?

‘There’s a Chinese place near mine, open 24 hours. The owner owes me a favour.’ Sherlock grimaces, but it’s done the trick. John has lit up, his smile threatening to spill off his face it’s so large.

‘Come on then, madman. Show me the way. I’ll have to lock everything up but it shouldn't take me too long.’  Before he knows it, John is pulling him out of his chair, grabbing his books from behind the desk and throwing them into a ratty old canvas bag.

They walk out of the library together, John locking the main doors with a set of keys so weathered and old they look like they belong to the ancient church down the road instead of the bright, modern space of the university. John’s hand bashes Sherlock’s as they walk through the narrow corridor to the foyer and Sherlock fancies he can feel his veins tingling.

He’s had a crush on John Watson for all of his university life. He only came into the library to meet Irene and had found John at the same time, Irene hanging over his desk and leering at him. He may not have been her type but she’d found the idea of corrupting rugby’s golden boy a little too tempting and Sherlock had been forced to watch as she flirted with him more and more obviously until he finally realised and told her that he wasn’t interested. It had been Irene that worked out Sherlock was in love with him, Irene that had seduced John’s ex, Irene that had been exasperated when all of her attempts to match the two of them up had come to nothing.

Now, look at them. John turning the lights off in the main building, locking up the security booth, fiddling for the switch behind the Christmas tree. John, who he’s going for dinner with. John, who is suddenly standing very, very close, reaching through the branches of the tree to hit the overhead lights. John who is now standing in front of Sherlock with only the glow of the Christmas tree lights behind him. John, whose blond hair is shimmering slightly with the golden baubles around him.

John, who is kissing him.

Sherlock doesn’t know what to do with his hands. One of them curls round John’s back to reach his shoulder and the other one knots itself into his jumper. One of John’s is on Sherlock’s bicep, the other gently stroking his cheek as he kisses him oh so sweetly. It’s the first time anyone has kissed Sherlock and when John goes to pull away, he chases his lips with what comes out as a tiny whimper.

Sherlock can feel John grinning against his mouth and when he opens his eyes, he almost feels himself melt. John looks almost blissful, incandescently happy, and Sherlock has never seen anyone so beautiful. John’s nose is pressed against his, his forehead on Sherlock’s own, and Sherlock can see what he can only describe as pure joy in John’s eyes.

‘Merry Christmas, Sherlock. I’ve wanted to do that for months.’ John presses his mouth against Sherlock’s again and the kiss becomes hot, loving, his tongue probing Sherlock’s as he wraps him closer in his arms.

They do eventually get Chinese, but it takes them almost an hour to walk what is a twenty minute wander at most. It’s full of John pressing Sherlock against shop windows because he can’t stand to be apart from him anymore, Sherlock winding his freezing cold hand into John’s then pulling them both into his pocket, and them both pressing chapped noses into each other as they snog senselessly in the snow.

When the students come back from holidays, it is to find the freak and the captain giggling as Sherlock tucks his head into John’s neck, both sat behind at the library desk and Sherlock trying to deduce the student queries before they’re even asked. Irene is smug, cackling, the rugby team don't say a word, and well, Sherlock's hands are never quite free for coffee again, being tangled in John at any given moment. 

And Marcus? Well, what good is a grumpy guard if he doesn’t play cupid with his students every now and then. Why would anyone put the switch for the lights behind the Christmas tree, after all?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :)


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